


never said i wouldn't lie to you

by cuneifire



Series: Mirador [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 12th Century, 19th Century, Gen, Historical Hetalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16149365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuneifire/pseuds/cuneifire
Summary: How Prussia came to be.





	never said i wouldn't lie to you

This is how he starts.

There’s a sea in front of him, coins clinking off the ground and tumbling into beggar’s hands. The sea out in front of him, swirling depths of waves below him and he takes in a shaky breath. 

He can’t swim.

He steps towards it, though, inches slowly over breaks of sand and other soldiers, armor and knifes and other types weaponry, ones he can’t name, ones he doesn’t know.

_Yet._

He’s blinking and the dawn is staring out over to him, red over blue of the sea striking like stone. The dawn’s coming.

He grips the knife at his side, the one he’d stolen and the one he’d never let go of, the one with a curved metal blade that stole off like dark silver, tainted with rust.

His hands shake as he stares over the horizon.

He’s ready to fight.

. 

This is how he sees.

That this is what blood looks like. It’s red, it’s shiny, and it’s everywhere. 

It’s also his, and he’s found that losing it hurts.

There’s a man in front of him, a curved knife slitting over his wrists and slicing deep into skin. Pain runs up and down his arms and into his shoulders, a vice over everything and -why can’t he breathe.

The enemy soldier, _the wrong believer,_ he knows, is looking down at him over a pool of his own blood, dark skin and hooded eyes he can barely breath, his limbs feel off kilter like they may just not be his anymore but at least he’s got his knife at least he’s got that. 

The man smiles and stabs him, leaves him to die.

The funny thing is, he doesn’t.

 .

 This is how he fights. 

Tooth to tooth, nail to nail, claws to claws, eye for an eye.

“You can’t fight for shi-” The boy across his blade spits out, in something that sounds like his language but no, that’s wrong, too much French, the words are drawn all wrong and how does he know that anyways-

Doesn’t matter, he steps up and pulls out his other blade, the knife, the one he cares about, the one he stares at on shimmering nights and wishes for good luck over, the one he’s going to use to slit the boy’s throat.

Blood spills on the street as he does. He looks up; he’s got an audience. Watchful, weary dark faces; he should’ve fought where others couldn’t watch, but no matter, they’ll be alright.

It’s alright though. After a few minutes the other boy will get up, shake his head, curse someone by the name of _that scopperloit Francis_ and draw his blade, get back up and fight again.

He doesn’t know the boy’s name, but beating him is fun.  And when the boy wins, it’s just a chance to try and get him by surprise.

And besides, at least the boy doesn’t talk about his eyes. 

.

This is how he wins.

Smile drawn back, teeth showing, blade between a man’s chest, taunting him in a language he doesn’t understand, _look who won now,_ and they couldn’t kill him, they couldn’t kill him but he could kill them. 

He looks over to the sea of men, their clinking armor and the sun pulling up in the bright midday sky, burning his eyes and he wishes he could close them, wishes they were green like that boy’s or blue or even brown like the Ayyubids, anything but red, this bright unforgiving burn in the back of his skull.

But he can’t do that, can’t take their words out of their thoughts, can’t change himself because that was how God designed him, that was how He intended him to be.

He was obviously meant to kill them, then.

So he puts a sword to theirs throats, lets heads roll with a flash of metal sharp metal. He dies a few times, but it doesn't matter.

What matters is that he gets up and they don’t. And that’s all that matters, as long as he’s still standing. Because he can fight.

And he can win.

.

This is how they meet.

He stumbles through the halls of the stupidly complicated palace, cursing Hungarians and their stupidly complex architecture, booted heels over wood. He’s looking for an exit, an out, a tree or a person to stab, anything.

He finds the other boy instead, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, green brown eyes that make him pause and stop and stare.

The other boy cocks his head when they meet, keeps his hand on the blade even though there’s an obvious spark of recognition in his eyes.

“Do I...know you?” He says, short and curious.

He pauses. “I...yes. You’re…” He’d seen the boy, earlier, somewhere in the jumbled halls and corridors of the palace, between treaties and faces he couldn't recognize.

It was the eyes he remembered.

“...Hungary.” The word felt foreign on his tongue.

The other boy nodded. “And you?”

He paused. They had a name for it, but it was long and complicated and everyone he told it to made fun of him for it.

So he shrugged, pulling up the first name that came to mind. “Just call me… Gilbert.”

 The boy seemed a bit surprised, but nodded anyways. “Alright, Gilbert. I’m going outside to train because everyone in there-” he shoots a conspiratorial glance. “-Is really boring.” Gilbert nods alongside him. “You wanna train together?” Hungary says, tilting his head. His hand’s still on the blade. Fighter. Gilbert immediately likes him for that. Maybe that’s why he finds himself nodding along.

“Yeah, sure.” and the words that come to mind are _take me anywhere._

 

.

This is how he knows.

Hungary pushes him away, shoves at him and bares teeth.

“Useless,” he hisses with grit, eyes cast low.

“You should leave.” He says. Gilbert swallows, feels the way the knife flickers under his grasp.

He does, even if his gaze lingers on the other boy as he furiously shoots arrows at the tree trunk, cursing in a language Gilbert doesn’t understand.

. 

This is how he waits.

He doesn’t. He sits impatiently, knees bouncing under the table, hearing the Brothers discuss negotiations with the foreigners and watches their words bounce across the table like knives made of ash coated sap, useless, useless and he’s grabbing at the knife crouched in his slung over belt, running his fingers over the blade over and over again, eyeing all the men who sit around them, blades sheathed.

His finger hoovers over the metal, and he wraps his hand around the hilt.

But he leans in, hand still on the blade.

He can’t fight. He may as well learn.

.

 This is how he remembers.

There’s another boy there; a few who he can see through some vague haze of memory, when he pauses in one of the Holy Roman Empire’s cities. He forgets which one it is though; can’t hold on to the memory, it falls from his grasp like it’s lost at sea, and he never gets it back, just a reflection of eyes the opposite color to his. 

.

This is how he ends.

There’s a blade to his throat and he smiles, pulls out his own and stares his opponent down. He doesn't know Gilbert’s got a blade.

But he does, so he uses it, brings it up high to glint with a Holy prayer to the sky, light shining down on his eyes and he strikes, down from the heavens and-

There’s a warm heat around his wrist, a firm grip instead of an iron vice, his opponent’s blue eyes and a tight lipped smile, as if he were amused but wouldn’t let the emotion quite touch his eyes.

Gilbert’s eyes widen when the man speaks, hand tightening over his wrist and drawing him closer.

“Nice try, _brüder_. But you could never kill me.”

Gilbert thinks that there’s nothing he can’t kill but he doesn’t have time to say the thought before he bleeds over the dirt road, spills his blood for all to see.

His knife clatters to the floor. The other man picks it up, his eyes an indistinguishable mix of emotions, ones Gilbert couldn’t read if he had a whole book on it.

“I’m sorry,” is what he whispers, close enough the only Gilbert can hear, sprawled and bleeding on the street like crushed livestock. “Glad you finally passed on the torch.” is what he boasts, cruelty in his eyes, his thin lipped smile.

“I’ll miss you.” Is what Gilbert hears, although from where he can’t tell.

.

That, he remembers.

It’s just that seven hundred years later, when a small child shows up on his doorstep after he kicks France’s ass, when Hungary won’t talk to him because Austria is _so much better,_ when England is the one levering France for once, it’s then he figures some things are allowed to change.

And he knows he’s taking a risk, knows it’s stupid and dangerous and could cost him his life.

But this he remembers; risks are worth it.

The knife drops from his hand, the stranger’s grip wrenching it to the cobbled floor.

.

And then he wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes  
> -The first three parts of the story are during the Siege of Acre (1189-1191), a part of the Crusades of the time. During these, the Teutonic Knights played a role in controlling the port tolls of the City, and fighting a Crusader war against the ruling Sunni Muslim Ayyubids.  
> -Alongside the Teutonic knights, the siege also involved armies from England, France and the Holy Roman Empire.  
> -Scopperloit is an Old English terms for someone who doesn’t work hard.  
> -During the year 1211 the Teutonic Knights moved to Transylvania to help defend the Kingdom of Hungary against the Turkic Cumans.  
> -The Sixth Crusade took place in from 1228-1229 and was a mainly diplomatic victory for the Crusaders. 
> 
> Hey everyone! Just dropping by to mention this is part of a series, which will basically be following the history of Germany. I'm not a professional historian or anything, so if you find any mistakes feel free to tell me!  
> As always, feedback/constructive criticism is welcome!
> 
> Edit: After a bit of rooting around I have decided the world does not need another 'let's go through the entire history of Germany' fic, and someone else could probably do it better than me anyways lol. So instead, I shall be working on other stuff and possibly just throwing some random pieces out there like usual. Anyways, this thing is still here, so if you feel like commenting or giving feedback, please do!


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